God Help the Outcasts
by Ammie Hawk
Summary: While on the run from the Hogwarts letters, Harry slips away from the Dursleys and meets an unexpected stranger.
1. Chapter 1

God Help the Outcasts

By Ammie Hawk

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: While on the run from the Hogwarts letters, Harry slips away from the Dursleys and meets an unexpected stranger.

AN: So this story has been festering for awhile now, and I decided to post it now, in honor of my favorite holiday. So Happy Halloween.

Chapter 1

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No posts on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today—"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys duck, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one—

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer into the sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…

When it was late enough, and he was sure his relatives were asleep, he quietly slipped on his shoes and snuck out of the room. He tiptoed passed his aunt and uncle's room and made his way outside. He knew he couldn't go far, he had to be back before his uncle woke up but he couldn't sit still.

He started walking up the street, his mind still on who was sending him those letters. He really wanted to know what they said and why whoever was sending them to him was so keen for him to get them. But it didn't really matter now, did it? They weren't even at home anymore. It was unlikely he'd get another one, but maybe when they got back there'd be so many he'd be able to sneak one away.

He had just turned the corner when he ran into something solid. He landed hard on his backside and his eyes darted to the thing he'd knocked into. Only it wasn't a something but a someone. Standing before him was a tall, thin man dressed all in black, looking down at him through curtains of shoulder length black hair.

"Are you lost?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," Harry shook his head.

"Where are your parents?" the man took a deep breath, and squatted down so he was on eye level.

"They're dead," he looked away.

"Of course they are," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. "Then where are your guardians?"

Harry pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the hotel.

"I see. Come," he straightened up and held out his hand for the boy. "I will take you back."

"No," he scooted out of reach. "I'm not ready yet."

"Not ready?" a dark brow rose incredulously. "You don't seem to realize how dangerous it is for a child your age to be running around at this hour, not to mention this neighborhood, which is full of all sorts of unsavory characters. So I will take you back to your guardians now. I cannot in good conscious leave you out here on your own. Now, come along, I will hear no more arguments."

"No!" Harry shook his head frantically as tears began streaming down his face. "I'll go back on my own. I promise. Uncle Vernon is going to be so mad."

A frown marred the man's face as he reached for him again. Harry managed to scoot further out of range and get his feet under him. He scrambled to his feet and took off running in the opposite direction. He heard the man say something, but he didn't care, he just had to get away. A moment later, he felt his feet leave the ground, and though he was still trying to run away, he began moving back toward the stranger. He felt arms wrap around him and the next moment it felt like his entire body was being sucked through a tiny straw.

The next thing he knew he was being forced to sit in a hard backed chair as lights flickered on around him.

"Stay," the man commanded sternly and pointed a stick at him.

Harry had no choice but to comply. Even if he'd wanted to make another break for it he found that he was unable to get out of the chair, like he'd been stuck there with glue.

"Now, tell me why…" he trailed off as his dark eyes landed on Harry's arms, which he had crossed protectively over his chest. "Where did you get these?"

The man knelt down in front of him and gently took his arm into his hand. He pushed the baggy sleeve up so he could better see the welts and bruises the Smelting stick had left in the scuffle earlier that week.

"My… my cousin," Harry muttered quietly.

"Does your cousin make a habit of beating you with a stick?"

"No, he just got the stick."

"But he does have a habit of beating you up?" the man pressed.

Harry looked away, he'd already said too much. He'd gotten a week in his cupboard when one of his teachers had written to the Dursleys about the bruises he regularly had from Dudley and his gang.

"I see."

As the man continued to examine his arms, Harry took the opportunity to look around the room he was now in. It was a small, dingy kitchen. There were pots and pans soaking in the sink, and what looked to be the remains of the man's dinner on the stove. The paint on the cupboards was chipped and peeling, and some of the doors looked to be coming off their hinges. And there was an old refrigerator in the corner that was running loudly.

He was brought from his examination as he felt the man start to tug on the hem of his shirt. His eyes darted to him, as he crossed his arms tightly over his stomach.

"Fine," he held up his hands. "I will not pry, for now. Now, tell me, what is your… name?"

Their eyes met for the first time since they had arrived at the house. The dark gaze darted upward for a fraction of a second before returning to green.

"Harry," he answered.

"Of course it is," the man sighed heavily. "Well, Harry, my name is Severus Snape. Now, you will be staying here tonight."

"No, I can't," Harry shook his head emphatically. "I have to get back. Uncle Vernon's gonna kill me if I'm not there in the morning."

"We will both be going to speak with your aunt and uncle in the morning," Snape pushed to his feet and went over to the sink.

He picked up a glass from the draining board and filled it with water. He turned back and handed it to Harry.

"Drink that," he commanded quietly. "Then I will show you where you will be sleeping."

"How do I know you didn't put anything in it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

The Dursleys were forever telling Dudley not to take food or drink from strangers, as they could drug it and take him away. They never pressed this issue for Harry, but he had listened.

"I did," Snape admitted, a smirk pulling at the corners of his thin mouth. "I added a little something to help you sleep."

"Oh," he said lamely, he hadn't expected that answer.

"Just drink it," Snape encouraged. "I promise you no harm will come to you in this house."

Harry wasn't sure why, but he trusted this man to keep his word. He lifted the glass and drank it. When it was empty, Snape returned it to the sink and led Harry out of the kitchen. He led him up a flight of stairs and opened the first door on the right. Inside was a small bedroom with a desk, dresser, and a twin sized bed.

"The bathroom is across the hall," Snape explained. "My room is at the end of the hall. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask."

Harry nodded to show he understood. He then made his way over to the bed, suddenly very tired. He crawled beneath the covers and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Severus watched the boy made himself comfortable in his childhood bedroom. He was pleased that his sleeping draught had worked, even heavily diluted as it had been. Though, that meant he had to go in and remove the boy's glasses, before he broke them more than they already were. Once that was completed, he quietly made his way out of the room and turned off the light. He left the door slightly ajar just in case the boy needed anything during the night.

He then made his way down the hall to the living room. He summoned a decanter of wine and a glass and took a seat in his favorite armchair. He wasn't quite sure what to do with this new information that had fallen into his lap. On the one hand, he could return the boy to his obviously abusive and neglectful relatives, after having a stern talking to, more threatening, them. On the other, he could… No, he really couldn't even entertain that thought. But then again, could he really subject a child, much less Harry Potter, Lily's son, his best friend's only child, to that fate?

He gave a heavy sigh and drained his glass. It wouldn't help anything to fret about it now, he would decide what to do after he spoke with the boy's relatives. With that thought in mind, he pushed to his feet, did a quick check on his potions, made sure the house was secure, and, after one more look in on the boy, headed off to bed.

* * *

Ammie: Okay, so while reading The Sorcerer's Stone it occurred to me that Harry was in the same town as Snape, if only for one night. So with that knowledge this fic was born. Anyway, please let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

God Help the Outcasts

By Ammie Hawk

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: Okay, so this chapter has been playing in my head for awhile, it just didn't want to go on paper. But here it is. Enjoy.

Chapter 2

Harry woke the next morning to the sun streaming into his eyes. He blinked a few times and rolled over, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. As he located his glasses, the events of the previous evening filled his mind. That's right, he'd snuck out of the motel his uncle had stopped at and had been picked up by a strange man, something Snape.

With that thought, he scrambled out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He found Snape seated at the kitchen table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of what smelled like coffee in the other. As soon as he entered the room, the paper lowered and dark eyes met green.

"Good morning, Harry," he greeted, folding the paper meticulously and placing it on the table in front of him.

"Morning," the boy replied quietly.

"Sit," Snape motioned to the chair across from him, as he got up from his own. "After you have eaten, we will be going to speak with your aunt and uncle."

"O-okay," he bowed his head, he was going to be in so much trouble.

"Eat," the man set a plate of food in front of him. "And while you do that, a letter arrived for you."

His head jerked up so fast, he was surprised he didn't strain anything. He couldn't believe it. But there it was, held between the man's long fingers. An envelope, addressed in green ink:

Mr. H. Potter

Guest Bedroom

Spinners End

Cokeworth

With trembling hands, he reached out to take it at last. He broke the wax seal, and pulled out the letter. His eyes scanned the page as Snape retook his seat.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

_Minerva McGonagall_

Minerva McGonagall

_Deputy Headmistress_

"But-but magic isn't real," Harry shook his head.

"Is it not?" a dark brow rose incredulously. "Have you never noticed strange things happen when you are scared or angry?"

Green eyes turned to stare at his hands. Now he came to think about it… every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry… chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach… dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Dudley had bullied him in public, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

"I see that you understand," Snape smirked. "Now, eat."

The boy picked up his fork obediently and began to eat the food in front of him, which was surprisingly still warm. When he had eaten his fill, which was only about half of what he'd been given, his gaze shifted to his host, who was once again reading the newspaper.

"What did it mean," he asked tentatively, not wanting to interrupt his reading, but his curiosity was eating him alive, "they await my owl?"

"Owls are how the wizarding community sends post," the man answered, glancing over the top of the paper. "If you wish to attend Hogwarts, I will send my owl to Minerva with your response, once we have spoken with your relatives."

"Oh, okay," Harry lowered his head, he really didn't want to go back to the Dursleys, but he couldn't exactly tell his man that.

"Are you finished eating?" Snape asked, folding the paper once more.

"Y-yes, sir," he nodded.

With a nod, Snape stood up and made his way around the table. When he reached the boy, he extended his hand, which Harry took rather reluctantly. He pulled him to his feet and, with the same squeezing sensation from the night before, they disappeared from the house.

They appeared in a small alley, next to the hotel, and Snape released Harry and led him around to the front entrance.

The pair made their way inside and Harry almost immediately spotted his relatives sitting at one of the rickety tables the hotel sported, eating breakfast. He took a quiet, deep breath and began heading in their direction. As they reached the table, two sets of eyes lifted to regard them curiously before their expression turned stony as they landed on the boy.

"There you are," his uncle snarled. "You're late. I suppose you got lost on the way down the stairs. Had to ask for help, did you? Well, sit down, you've wasted enough of this man's time."

The bespectacled boy hurried to a seat beside his overweight cousin, and sat down. He wasn't sure what his uncle really thought, but it was obvious he knew he hadn't been up in his room with Dudley. It was also apparent that he wasn't going to cause a scene as long as the other man was present.

Beady eyes turned to Snape once Harry had done as instructed, "I do apologize for my nephew, he is quite… disturbed."

The man said nothing to this as his dark eyes shifted between each of the Dursleys. After a moment, he grabbed a chair from the next table and sat down beside the lone raven.

"I'm sorry," Aunt Petunia frowned. "It is quite rude of you to presume you can sit here. My family and I are trying to enjoy our breakfast in peace."

"I noticed, Petunia," he sneered slightly. "However, before I leave your nephew in your care again, there are a few things that need to be discussed."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Vernon snarled, his beady eyes darting nervously around the empty dining area.

"Forgive me," his tone showed his utter lack of actual contrition, as he surreptitiously pulled his wand and cast a nonverbal privacy spell around them, "I am the Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where young Harry has been invited to attend, and as of this morning, has accepted. You may call me Professor Snape."

"_Snape_?" the blonde practically screeched. "Snape?! Not that dratted boy who filled my sister's head with all that foolish nonsense?"

"I would not call the truth foolish nonsense," a dark brow rose in challenge. "But it is good to know that you do in fact remember me. Now, as I was saying, the boy will be attending Hogwarts in September, and I will personally take him to get his school supplies at the end of the week."

"He's not going," the fat man snarled.

"As if you could stop him," Snape scoffed. "You can't even seem to keep him confined to a motel room for a single night."

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"You _knew_?" Harry spoke up. "You _knew_ I'm a—a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "_Knew!_ Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that _school_—and came home every vacation with her pocket full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—_abnormal_—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"A car crash, Petunia?" the Potions Master sneered. "Have you really become so bitter that you would belittle your sister's sacrifice by claiming she died in a car crash? I will give you the week, Petunia Evans, to tell the boy the truth. If you do not, I will be forced to tell him myself. And if it comes to that, you can mark my words, I will make your life, your very existence, most unpleasant. With that, I bid you good day. Harry, I will see you at the end of the week."

That being said, he rose from the table and made his way out of the motel. The Dursleys were practically quaking in their seats out of fear. Green eyes turned questioningly to the two adults, hesitant to ask the multitude of questions racing through his mind, knowing he probably wouldn't get an answer anyway.

After several excruciatingly tense minutes, the Dursleys seemed to pull themselves together. Duel glares landed on the raven, making him gulp audibly.

"Go upstairs and gather your things, boy," Vernon snarled. "We're leaving in thirty minutes."

Harry could do nothing but nod, as he pushed hastily to his feet and scurried up the stairs. When he gained the room he was sharing with Dudley, he went over to the bed he'd claimed the night before. He hadn't unpacked anything the previous evening before he'd snuck out, so all he had to do was grab his duffle. It was as he turned back toward the door that an icy chill went down his spine and a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach. Uncle Vernon had sent him to get his stuff, but Dudley had not come up with him.

He raced to the room's lone window and looked out into the parking lot. He was just in time to see the Dursleys car pull out of the parking lot. He sank to his knees as the reality of what was happening hit him. After all the times of threatening to do so, his family had actually left him.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he curled in on himself. What was he supposed to do now? He was all alone in a strange place, with no money and no one that he knew.

How long he sat there, he didn't know. After awhile, the owner came and knocked on the door, telling him he had to leave.

With one final sniff, he got up and shouldered his bag. He could do this. If nothing else, he could walk back, right? It couldn't be that far to Surrey.

As he reached for the handle, another option popped into his head. Snape lived in the area. Well, he assumed he did anyway, not that he actually knew where he lived, having only traveled to and from there magically. But that aside, he knew Aunt Petunia and could probably get him back to Privet Drive.

With that thought firmly in his head, he opened the door and stepped out of the room.

"Excuse me," he said quietly, "but could you please tell me how to get to Spinners End?"

* * *

Ammie: I know, I know, this is an exceedingly short chapter, but that is where it wanted to end. I'm confident that after this,things will pick up and get more meat in the chapters. Anyway, please let me know what you think.


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